Many Times I've Looked at You
by just.keep.swimming.slowly
Summary: He had been crying. It made her uncomfortable, the fact that she could tell, but it was obvious from the puffiness of his eyes, the shininess of his cheeks. He would probably never remember that night in its entirety, and for that she was grateful. Oneshot. Prequel to 'Everything I Never Knew I Needed'.
1. Chapter 1

**one**

The first time they met, he had been drunk.

She would eventually tell him about that night, and she would say that it was quite funny, the way he was staggering around and swearing at potted plants. Of course, that was a bit of a stretch.

He had been crying.

It made her uncomfortable, the fact that she could tell, but it was obvious from the puffiness of his eyes, the shininess of his cheeks. He would probably never remember that night in its entirety, and for that she was grateful.

At the time, she hadn't a clue who he was, nor why he had broken the mirror in her bathroom. She only knew that he was unconscious and sleeping on her couch.

He was gone by morning.

 **two**

It had been a month. A full month since the red headed man had fallen into and out of her life, and she couldn't understand why he was so hard to forget.

She had spent nearly an hour staring at his face. Studying his finally peaceful features and the way his unkempt, red hair had fallen across his lips and chin; she'd been tempted to brush it out of his eyes, but the moment her hand drew near, she couldn't bring herself to do it. It felt like too intimate a gesture for a man she didn't know.

He had been freckled. She could have connected each spot and made constellations, there were so many. They stood out as tawny dots against his pale skin.

Her job was routine enough that she could spend as much time as she liked thinking about the stranger. She could picture him clearly, like it had only been a minute, and not a month, since she'd last seen him.

Her imagination ran wild. He became a prince, a knight in shining armor. He hadn't been drunk, no. Just wounded from battle. The scars that pitted his hands and arms were tokens of war.

She managed to convince herself that if they ever met again, she'd run into his arms like it was where she belonged. Where she'd always belonged.

She wasn't crazy. Just lonely. Pushing the romance novel onto the correct shelf, she expertly wheeled her book cart through the shelves and re-alphabetized the encyclopedias.

It was unnatural to spend so much time dwelling on someone she'd barely met, she continuously told herself, No matter how they made her feel.

"Get yourself together," she muttered.

 **three**

She managed to push all thoughts of the stranger to the back of her mind. He was only a fond memory. A phantom.

She was just a librarian in a small town. Her days were spent in quiet. She didn't own a television or a car - she didn't make nearly enough money to afford such luxuries. All she had were books.

And books helped her. She was a duchess one day, and a pauper the next. She could become a child, or a mother. It was nice, she always thought. Her life, although a lonely one, was peaceful. Books offered enough of an escape if she needed one.

The library was empty.

Her eyelids drooped, her lips parted –

Someone was in front of her. She sat up with a start, and met a pair of deep blue eyes.

And a head of fiery hair.

He wanted a library card.

The already small library became stifling. She could feel heat rise from her toes and straight to the roots of her nondescript hair.

 **four**

His name was George, she learned.

In the two weeks that had passed, he dutifully came to the library and sat at a table with a novel.

She didn't find it odd, the fact that he never checked out a book. She was far too happy, just knowing that he hadn't been a figment of her imagination. Most of her mornings were spent in anticipation, wondering if he would show up, and blushing furiously when he did.

He was a year or two older than her, and he never really spoke. That didn't bother her. She had been home schooled growing up - her only true friend was her older brother, but he owned a successful law firm in London. He didn't have much time for her anymore. She was used to it.

She struck up the courage to speak to him one morning, "all right?" she said as he passed her desk.

He grunted and continued to his usual seat near the window.

She thought it was progress.

 **five**

It was half past ten. She trekked up the hill to her tiny flat, hefting bags of takeout food between her hands. Her purse bounced on her hip, a steady rhythm that kept her pace constant.

A figure in the dark staggered toward her, and she knew she should be wary, but something told her that it was George.

She was right.

They were outside her flat and it was close to eleven now. He wasn't as drunk as before, but she could still smell the alcohol on his breath. She invited him up, knowing that she could never leave him outside with a clean conscience.

It was exactly the sort of thing they warn you about. Stranger danger, wasn't it? They barely knew each other. She vaguely recalled a book she read, about a man who made skin suits out of young girls. She shivered and unlocked the door. George was behind her. She could feel the heat radiating off of his body.

Nothing was going to happen, she told herself. The man would probably just crash on her sofa again.

Her food was dropped on the table and she told him to make himself comfortable. He was silent for a moment, and then he was kissing her.

It was what she'd been fantasizing about for months. Being kissed by this man, by the mysterious prince charming, but something wasn't right and it wasn't what she expected. It was sloppy and urgent and far too rough for her liking. She shook her head and pulled away.

His arms were like dead weights at his sides.

"No," she murmured, and even though he was drunk, he understood. He made to leave, his steps slow under the influence of alcohol, but she stopped him.

"Stay awhile,"

He looked at her and she realized that she'd never seen him smile.

 **six**

She didn't get much sleep in the weeks that followed, but she was fine with it. She had always been fine. George was just another curveball. Just another problem to solve. Another person to fix.

She learned that he had a twin. "Fred," he told her as they lay side by side on her bed. His voice was thick with an emotion that she couldn't identify, although it felt familiar.

All she could do was listen.

She learned it had been 3 years since Fred died, and that George hadn't been home in two.

Uncertainty filled the gaps between stories. She wasn't sure if she could ask him questions of her own, or if that would be too intrusive. She wanted to ask about his scars, the ones that could be seen faintly on the edge of his jaw and along the backs of his hands.

There were glow in the dark stars stuck to her ceiling. Above the covers, she could feel her air conditioner working at full throttle. The antique thing sat in the corner and buzzed like an angry wasp in the swampy summer months. It stirred a strand of her hair off her forehead and into her eyes.

George was silent. The sound of his steady breaths blended with the humming of the AC.

Her glasses were off and resting on the kitchen table. She liked the blurriness of her ceiling; the toy stars looked like real ones in the darkness.

 **seven**

He spoke in his sleep.

She first noticed it when she made tea in the middle of the night and he had crashed on her sofa. When he first started speaking, it all sounded like nonsense. Things about flying on brooms and wands and dragons.

If she listened closely, she could sort out names.

Bill. Charlie. Ron. Ginny. Harry. Angie – the only name she could recognize was Fred's.

He would say her name too.

 **eight**

The library wasn't quite as stifling as it had once been. George offered to help her out behind the counter, but no one seemed interested in checking out books that November. They would play card games and fill out the crossword to pass the time (she would fill out the crossword. George was horrible at it).

"Why were you home schooled?" he asked, "go fish,"

She sighed and drew a card from the dwindling deck, "Mum found the schools in this town… unsatisfactory,"

He glanced at her, "And your dad? What did he think?"

"He died when I was young,"

"I'm sorry,"

There was a pause and she shook her head, "Don't worry about it. I barely remember him."

George studied his cards for a moment, "And where's your mum?"

"She's off 'finding herself',"

There was a snort of laughter, but it was gone before she had time to register it. She looked up at George and found him staring at his cards intently. There wasn't a trace of laughter on his face, "Any fives?"

She smiled to herself, "go fish,"

 **nine**

Snow fell more heavily that December than any she had ever experienced. She sank up to her knees in some places, and with a sigh, she closed the library until further notice.

George seemed much lighter hearted than usual. It was nice, seeing him with more bounce in his step and more twinkle in his eyes.

Her woolen hat was too big for her, covering her eyes at times and flying off at the slightest gust of wind. The chill seeped through her gloves and straight to the thin bones of her fingers.

Something hard smacked her neck and dripped into her sweater.

As annoyed as she was, she couldn't help but laugh when she saw the look on George's face. He smiled at her and scooped another handful of snow, piling it on top of her uncovered head and pulling her hat down to her ears.

He smiled at her.

He smiled.

 **ten**

Her brother surprised her with a visit a few days after New Year's.

Seeing him again reminded her just how different they happened to be. He was successful. Good Looking. Confident.

"Have a good holiday?" he asked her.

She nodded and smiled, and for the first time in a long time, she meant it.

"I'd like to introduce you to somebody," he said, and suddenly she noticed the woman lingering behind him.

"This is Cho,"

Cho smiled at her warmly. "Your brother's told me a lot about you."

The door to her flat opened, and George came in carrying bags of groceries, "They didn't have the pecans, so I got walnuts instea-"

He stopped short when he saw Cho.

She stared at him for a moment, "Fred?"

He frowned, "Excuse me,"

He set the bags on the coffee table and strolled out of the flat.

Her brother and Cho left not long after that, although Cho apologized profusely.

"We went to school together," she explained in an ashamed whisper, "I'd completely forgotten."

 **eleven**

The weeks following that fateful meeting, George was quieter.

His stormy eyes were focused on the distance. He moved through her apartment like a phantom, coming and going at odd hours and barely speaking a word. She wanted to reach out to him. It was like he was floating in murky water. She couldn't find him in the depths, and as much as she yearned for connection, his glassy eyes slid past her time and time again.

She would whisper his name as he walked past her, hoping each time for a response.

He stopped coming with her to the library, and the frigid February air would sweep in through the doors and keep her company.

She stayed up until ungodly hours trying to understand how to fix him. How to make him into the man she knew he once was.

Into the man she had come to love.

Her eyes were bloodshot. Strained. Her hair knotted. Her clothes unkempt.

In the small town, there was a bench next to a pond. She found herself tossing bread crumbs to birds, bundled up from the cold whenever she wanted to think. Her head was pounding, a sharp pulse that threatened to turn in to something much worse. She felt her eyelids begin to droop, and she leaned her head back, the weight of the world on her shoulders.

George found her by chance. His lips pressed into a line, he scooped up her semiconscious form and carried her to her flat.

He lay her down in her bed, pressed a kiss to her forehead and sat beside her, as she slipped in and out of consciousness.

A whisper.

"I need to go."

He picked up his coat and took one last look at her sleeping form.

"Thank you."

 **twelve**

She was choking on the silence of her flat. Her fingers twitched, her eyes bugged. She felt as though she could not bear to live another moment alone in the town filled solely with elderly people and small children. She was restless, and she was lonely, and felt beyond her 20 years.

It was two months since George had left. She loved him. She hated him. She didn't know what to do, so she carried on with her life.

The telephone rang. She picked it up, hoping it would be him, although she knew it wasn't.

"How have you been?" her brother asked.

She was silent, but he continued to speak.

"Why don't you come up to London for a while? Take your mind off things?"

She agreed. She couldn't wait to leave this town full of memories.

Maybe it was for the best.

Maybe it was time for a new start.

* * *

 **A/N: This is an experimental one shot, so let me know how you like it, and if anything should be changed up or made different.**


	2. 2

**I've been working on a companion story for this one-shot, and it's now up and in-progress! Enjoy! And sorry for the wait.**


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